


The Least Damage

by sstwins



Category: Mr. Selfridge (TV)
Genre: Gen, Muder, Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-18
Updated: 2016-06-18
Packaged: 2018-07-15 18:43:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7234222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sstwins/pseuds/sstwins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jimmy Dillon stands in front of the mirror and prepares to end it all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Least Damage

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for the prompt 'Write a piece in which a character ends up snapping after too much pressure' from Writeodome on Tumblr!
> 
> _Also, Jimmy doesn't graphically die in this or anything. It's just implied and I thought I should use the tags just in case!_

Jimmy Dillon listened to the rhythmic ticking of the clock as he pulled his best suit off of its hanger. The clock was good because it never lied. One could always look at it and know what time it was. Or how much time they were wasting, flighty and nervous, avoiding people’s questions and searching eyes. Jimmy looked at the clock. 10:11. It was getting late. The darkness was good. He turned away before he spent too long staring at the slowly moving hands.

Instead, Jimmy turned to face the mirror, which was worse in a way. He hated looking at himself, though he always pretended like he loved it. His race disgusted him. Neither here nor there, not English but not Indian either. Just a mix, like someone who couldn’t make a decision. He always pretended like he was proud of it, but it just took one look in the mirror to remind him that he didn’t fit in. Jimmy slid on the jacket and tried not to close his eyes. Whenever his eyes were closed, it brought the fight back.

He’d been so angry. He was always so angry over things that weren’t that important-though he did love Mae. At least, he’d thought he had. He couldn’t even look at her anymore because he’d remember that night. Yelling. He’d been the one to throw the first punch. Provoked, he always tried to tell himself. Victor had been provoking him. Insulting him. But still, he’d been the one to throw the first punch.

The body, laying on the floor below. Someone he barely knew. Jimmy had seen his face reflected in a picture frame that had been lying near Victor’s body. Tortured eyes. He hated himself. He’d run out of there. He couldn’t look at Victor any longer, but the image stuck with him. He had to remain calm, act like nothing was wrong. From then on, his life had been a maniacal game of hide and seek. A game of who-would-find-out-first.

But not anyone, Jimmy thought, as he pulled on the jacket and picked up a tie. Now it was over. The first person to find out was the one he cared the most about, which was typical. Jimmy had never really had a father. He’d always known that there was some reason his real one hadn’t hung around. Maybe it had been him. Maybe his father had always known that he was a dirty, low down, untrustworthy murderer.

Tie tied tight. Crimson red. Fitting. Jimmy looked up at himself again. Not bad. Better than usual. He looked like he was going out to do some business. No one would ever suspect.

He couldn’t turn himself into the police, because the story would still get out. He didn’t have anywhere he could go, because he’d only ever cared about two people and they both undoubtedly hated him now. But by dying, he’d be saving them. This story would help drown out the other. No one would want to incriminate someone who was dead.

It was the best thing he could do. The way to leave the least damage behind. Jimmy turned from the mirror, never to see those tortured eyes again. When he blinked, he saw his own body, washed up against the pier, lying just like Victor had.


End file.
